


And on the Seventh Day

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-22
Updated: 2004-12-22
Packaged: 2019-05-15 22:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14799320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Weary after a migraine, Sam has to go to Texas on his way to NewEngland and is pursued by a stalker with a mission





	And on the Seventh Day

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

The shadows were lengthening rapidly, rushing across the road towards the stone steps,

steps that leaked out from each front door, tumbling to the sidewalk and creating bridges between the street and the line of heavy brownstone homes. Sam sat up in the wide window seat, waiting for twilight. He leaned his hot forehead against the cool glass in an attempt to find relief from the fierce pressure twisting and torturing the left side of his head.  He panted, trying to over-ride the rising swell of nausea, and drew his knees up to his chin, rocking gently.

The shadows of early evening slithered up the side of the building and swamped Sam's warm posse, but he didn't move. Eyes closed, he concentrated on breathing, as if he had stepped off the world, an astronaut floating on a lifeline in silent space. His heart thumped loudly, slowed by the pills he was trying to keep in his stomach, and he felt consumed by the two pounding rhythms, his heart and his head…

*  *  *

Sam ran a hand through his hair as he made to speak, pausing to take a drink of water, and Toby suddenly saw how tired he was, pale skin and dark shadows evident even behind his glasses. He frowned down at his notes and tried to concentrate on what Sam was going to say. He was tired himself. Three days of Economic Summit had left them with less than four hours sleep a night since last Monday and the cracks were beginning to show. CJ had struggled through this morning's Press briefing and Josh was up on the Hill trying to repair the damage he had done yesterday with his Finance package comments.

Toby mentally shook himself. He needed to listen to this. Sam had begun to counter the latest arguments put forward by the defenders of Operation Gamekeeper and was pulling apart the whole attitude of the Immigration and Naturalization Service…

"…It's not enough to leave these people in border hospitals without you people making some sort of move towards financial backing. There has to be some funding that can be redirected to the hospitals that care for these people."

"They're illegals, Sam."

"Illegals that are now inside our borders and therefore federally entitled to emergency medical care, care that's costing border hospitals and medical centers thousands of dollars per patient."

"They could use relatives to get payment-"

"That's ridiculous and you know it." Sam stood up in irritation but at a glance from Toby sat down again, sighing. "If patrol agents aren't going to make arrests, then the hospitals have no teeth to enforce payment from anyone. The bills will only be paid if the illegals are in INS custody and you damn well know that. They're dealing with  _illegals_ and if you don't foot the bill, who the hell  _will_?" 

"Sam-" Toby's voice was a gentle warning.

"Okay." Sam took a deep breath, "We need to establish this fact though, that the border hospitals are struggling. D'you at least accept THAT?"

"Sure, Sam, we can see the evidence right in front of us."

"Then why have you cut funding – federal aid reimbursements have been slashed by millions every year for the last three." Sam was speaking faster and faster as he strived to make all of his points in the short amount of time they had been able to allocate for this meeting, most of which had been used up by the INS team presenting their case.  "The medical bill for illegal immigrants is nearing the three billion mark, and some of that has to be directed to these areas. Physicians are not being paid and consequently the number of doctors available for emergency care in these areas is dwindling rapidly as the number of non-urban border crossings increases."

One of the younger members of the party leaned forward, "Why can't we just put more funding into tightening up the borders themselves? Or send the people back for care in Mexico?"

A couple of the more experienced members of the delegation cringed visibly and Toby snorted with derisiveness, happy to leave this battle to Sam.

 

"Oh God!!" Sam threw down his pen in exasperation,  "We're talking about deserts, and deep rivers, and twenty foot fences, rugged terrains that would test anyone well-equipped for the challenge, and these people take on these terrains with nothing but the clothes on their backs.  They nearly drown, they fracture bones, they become severely dehydrated, it's not a pretty sight, and this is because the urban borders have been tightened up, driving these people out into the wild." Unable to sit still, Sam pushed back his chair and paced around the table, finally leaning against the wall with folded arms, "Mexico pays for the medical care of their aliens, and guess what, a fair whack of them are from here. And they expect us to do the same. We can't ignore this problem any longer, or medical care in border counties will become a joke. I am traveling south tomorrow and I know I am going to be asked about this, because it is just one week since Manuel Cortega was found near death in the desert, brought back to life but was not detained because of his state of health, and has now disappeared with relatives, leaving a bill of $32,000 behind him."

There was a tense silence in the room, and the leader of the delegation shuffled some of his papers nervously. He looked across the table at Toby,

"Can we get a report to you within a week?"

Toby glanced up at Sam, now wearily rubbing his eyes, glasses hanging from his fingertips, and then looked back at the man,

"I'll give you forty-eight hours."

The delegation packed up and left quickly, and Toby stayed where he was, staring at the table. After a moment's silence, Sam dropped into a chair opposite. Toby's fingers drummed on the polished wood and Sam shifted nervously in his chair.  

"So."

"Hmm?"

"Was I too – " Sam paused, embarrassed, "Did I lose my head?"

Toby smiled suddenly, "No, that was fine. In fact, I never expected them to cave. That was an unexpected bonus. You did fine."

Sam sat back, relieved. He rubbed his eyes again, his head aching. He could feel the pressure building above his left ear, a slow heat that made his stomach twist in nervous knots.  _Please don't let this be a migraine_ , he chanted silently,  _please…_  he jerked as a pen hit him in the chest.

"Ow!"

"Wake up. Let's get out of here."  They packed up their papers and headed back across the hall to the Bullpen.  Ginger looked up expectantly, and Toby raised his eyebrows,  "You should be hearing from the INS within forty-eight hours."

Ginger grinned, "How'd you do it?"

"Sam. Blew'em apart in minutes."

Ginger smiled at him and he ducked his head, slipping into his office. He had to pack his briefcase ready for two days in Texas then three in New England with the whole Senior Staff and the President  _and_  First Lady. And that wasn't necessarily going to be an easy trip either.  Toby followed him in, leaning in the doorway.

"You ready for Texas?"

"Guess so." 

"Leo wants to be briefed about the INS right away."

"Okay." Sam blew out a long stream of air, puffing his cheeks out, but it did nothing to relieve the mounting pressure around the top of his head. "I'll do it now."

"You been sleeping?"

"None of us has had time to sleep this past week."

"We don't all look like ghosts – you all right?"

"I  - yeah, I'm fine. I'll go see Leo." He tottered away, knowing Toby's eyes were following him out of the Bullpen

*

"You okay, Sam?"  CJ had been mildly interested as he stood outside Leo's office, eyes closed, rocking on his heels and toes, and her hand had come to rest on his upper arm, a warmth through the cotton of his shirt against his chilled skin.  He had blinked owlishly at her, his face pale and set. 

"I'm okay."

"You look upset. Something I need to know?"

His lips twitched faintly, "Not this time, just a headache."

"Where were you before?"

"With the INS."

"How'd it go?"

"Good. Toby's offered 'em forty-eight hours to present a more sensible proposal."

"You did well then."

"I guess – " He closed his eyes again with a shaky sigh.

"You really don't look so good. Is it a migraine?"

"Hoping it'll pass."

"My Samshine, the eternal optimist."

His eyes opened again and he smiled at her hand, still warm and somehow reassuring on his arm.  Margaret looked over at them,

"You can both go in now."

*

Sam had nearly completed his briefing, " and the final nail in the coffin wa- " he stopped dead. Leo stared at him through his glasses,

"What?"

Sam clamped his lips shut, turning slightly green. CJ glanced at him,

"Feel sick?"  He swung around to stare at her, his eyes pleading, and gave the faintest of nods. She turned to Leo, "He's coming down with a migraine."

Leo had seen Sam with a migraine before, "Go!" 

Sam went.

*

Sam slipped quietly out of the Men's bathroom after an awful bout of vomiting, head on fire and legs like jelly. He managed to slip past Bonnie, tied up on the phone, but ground to a halt at his office door. Toby was leaning against the desk, arms folded.  Sam stood in the doorway,

"Ah… " He wavered slightly and Toby pointed peremptorily to a chair.  Sam sat.

Toby lowered himself into the second chair, watching his Deputy carefully,

"Migraine?"

Sam could only muster a whisper, "Yes."

"Haven't had one for a while – since Chicago?"

"Uh-huh."

"Got any medication?"

"Um, don't think so… oh, wait!" he winced at his own voice, "Josh's backpack."

"Josh's backpack what?"

"Has... Pills. For me."

"Why on earth – "

Sam shrugged slightly, "Once, I had him put them there, emergency supply when we were going somewhere – " He leaned his aching head into one hand and closed his eyes.  Toby stared at him for a minute. The he rose slowly and leaned out the door,

"Bonnie, get Josh and if he's still on the Hill, see if his backpack is in his office. Get Donna to look in it and find Sam's migraine pills."

"Does Sam have a migraine?"

"No, we're doing a spot check for drugs in the White House."

"I'll call Donna."

*  *  *

"I found the backpack and there're some pills in it!" Donna was triumphant.  "And he usually takes his backpack with him! That's amazing."  Bonnie followed close behind with a glass of water and a bucket.  Toby raised his eyebrows but she shrugged, "Remember that other time, in the waste paper bin…"  Sam was now very pale and still, and Donna handed the small vial of pills to Toby, who nudged Sam with his elbow,

"How many?"  Sam held up two fingers.

Sam lost the first two pills he took, straight into Bonnie's bucket, and Toby had rolled his eyes, given Sam more pills and called a taxi to take him home.

He sighed at the world, his breath steamy on the glass.  This migraine wasn't going to pass in a hurry.  He moved shakily from the window-sill to curl up on the couch as the indigo sky swallowed the rooftops across the road.  Tired beyond belief, he considered heading for bed but wasn't sure he'd make it just yet and he settled for pressing his face into the back of the couch.  Texas in the morning. He really wasn't looking forward to that. Non-stop meetings for two days and then an evening flight to meet the plane for New England and the President's Heritage rally. Sam felt overrun with the deep throb of his head and the intensity of his schedule. He began to try the relaxation his doctor had shown him, breathe in through the nose, hold for five, out through the mouth, in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth – argh, he rolled off the couch and ran for the bathroom.

*

The telephone rang shrilly in the now darkened apartment, its bright tone reverberating around the inside of Sam's skull.  He drew his knees up and buried his face harder into the back of the couch, squeezing his eyes tight shut. As the answer-phone clicked on, the caller hung up.  Sam slowly let out the breath he had been holding, but then the phone began to ring again. Needing to halt the painful attack, Sam groaned miserably. He reached out one hand to grab the receiver, and, fumbling awkwardly, held it against his ear,

"Yeah?"

"Seaborn?"

Sam winced, drawing the receiver away, "Uh-huh."

"What the hell went down today?"

"Huh?"

"Get with it, Sam, it's Dave Corey."

"I – ah – what? What happened?" Sam pressed one hand to his forehead.

"The ERCP – we lost the funding for the Middle School Initiatives."

"That – that's not possible."  He struggled into a sitting position, his head reeling. "I – I – it was all in place."

"There's been a deal made, behind our backs. I'm holding you responsible for this, Sam."

"No, wait! You must have some wrong information."

"It's done. I have the latest releases right here. There's something your own people aren't telling you. Lyman's been up on the Hill with Carrothers this afternoon."

Sam felt his stomach flip violently, and managed to stammer, "Call you back!" before dropping the phone on the floor and staggering into the bathroom.  Ten minutes later, shivering violently, he dragged on a bulky sailing sweater, downed two more migraine pills and called a taxi.

*  *  *

Josh was leaning against Donna's desk, arms folded, chatting animatedly to Donna, who was kneeling on the floor sorting files, her blonde hair hanging forward over her face. Sam stood still in the doorway, wraithlike, and he stared at Josh's profile, loving and resenting him at the same time, feeling his heart hammer, his thoughts crowded with pain and confusion and all-too familiar hurt.

And at that moment, Donna looked up and spied him there. Her mouth fell open in that pouty way she has, as she took in his bedraggled appearance, his face ivory against the deep blue of his sweater, dark hair askew, his eyes squinting against the harsh office light.

Josh's sentence faded as he followed her open-mouthed gaze and he too stared, finally finding his voice before Donna,

"Sam! What – what're you doing back here?"  Sam flinched visibly at the raised voice and they both saw his hand clutch the doorjamb.  Josh lowered his voice as he straightened, "Sam, you're s'posed to be home resting."  Sam's mouth opened and closed a few times and he blinked desperately, trying to muster the strength to reply.  Josh flicked a nervous glance at Donna, who stared back at him and mouthed,  _He knows_.  Josh paled slightly and crossed the small space to his partner, putting a hand on his arm, "C'mon, at least come sit in my office. You look like you're gonna fall over any minute." He tugged at Sam's sleeve but Sam didn't budge. Donna stood up too, glancing around to check there were no other staffers within earshot.  She knew what was coming. 

"You've been up on the Hill." Sam's soft voice was low but accusing.

"Yeah. I had to meet with the people about the Finance thing." 

"You just accidentally met Carrothers passing in the hallway?"

"I- "

"And when you met you just by chance happened to renegotiate the package we'd presented?"

"Sam – "

"You didn't by any chance have a meeting scheduled?" Even with a migraine, Sam's cross-examination was deadly.

"No, Sam, just let me talk – "

"Donna, " Sam turned his head slowly to focus on Josh's assistant, whose face was set and sad, "Donna, show me Josh's schedule."

She pouted, "Please, Sam."

"Just show it to me."  Sam kept his eyes on her as he fished out his glasses.  Josh folded his arms and stared recalcitrant at his toes as Donna held her diary out to Sam.  He stared for a moment then removed his glasses with a sigh,  "I'm sorry, I can't see a thing. Please read out the afternoon appointments."

Donna glanced at Josh but there was no help to be had there.  Her voice shook slightly,

"Two o'clock, OPEC, three o'clock, Leo, three-ten, call centre staff meeting, four-twenty, finance on the Hill, four-forty-five," her voice wavered more noticeably, "Carrothers…"

 Sam lifted a hand, "Thank you, Donna."

Josh looked up, wrinkling his forehead, his eyes cautious. "Let's talk in my office."

"Fine."

Sam took his usual position by the window, arms folded, lips compressed, and Josh closed the door, leaning against it tiredly. He wasn't supposed to be having this argument yet.  Sam was leaving for Texas in the morning and some time in  _New England_  they would have had this argument. But not here, tonight.

"You met with Carrothers?"

"You should be lying down."

"You met with him?"

"I – Sam, I had to. We needed a bone to throw to the Republicans."

"I'd presented that package. It'd been approved. Moved along."

"Doesn't mean it's finalised."

"It was  _on_." His voice was rising.  "It wasn't here any more."

"That's why I had to go there." Josh's voice was rising too. 

"You shouldn't have chased it."

"I wasn't  _chasing_  it. But I had to get us some leverage."

"Which  _us_ are you talking about? Because I sure as hell don't recall being part of that little discussion."

"You're not the centre of the universe."

"That is so unfair. This was our deal and it left here intact, then you ran after it and decided to rip out a section to feed to the opposition."

"I didn't rip –"

"You damn well did! Middle school initiatives – my God, why don't you just tell those kids to drop out before they're eleven years old."

"Sam, c'mon! It's nothing even close to that."

"It is to me, Josh." His voice was suddenly hoarse, and Josh clamped his lips together, expelling a stream of irritated air out of his nostrils.  He stared at Sam, his Sam, as taught as a violin string, white-faced, rocking distractedly from the pain assaulting his head, and for a moment there, he wished Sam would just go away, and before he'd even registered the ludicrousness of that thought, he'd uttered it aloud, and Sam had gulped, straightening suddenly, pushing past him at the door and was gone.

Josh stood there, stunned.  _How did that go so badly?_  He hadn't even explained the why of what he had done. Then he whirled around and headed after Sam. But Sam had gone.

*  *  *

Tired.

Cold.

Miserable.

Sam decided to let the words out to play. He couldn't think clearly any more. Had he even been thinking with any sort of clarity when he stormed back to the West Wing tonight? He guessed not. As he walked slowly towards home, he cut out the thoughts and focused on the words.

Tired.

Cold.

Miserable.

Sleepy. Freezing. Depressed.

Wiped out. Shivering. Sad.

Shattered… now he needed shivering for the alliteration. Shattered, shivering, hmmm, how about morose?  Frozen. Frigid. They go well. What's a tired word beginning with 'f'? Fucking exhausted? No, he wasn't going to swear. Only indicates a lack of vocabulary, his mother would say. 

Unbelievably tired, incredibly cold, exceedingly miserable? That was better. He brightened slightly as he turned into his own street, his breaths white puffs rushing ahead of him into the still, dark night. The sky, inky black, pressed down on him, held aloft only by the fragile power of the streetlamps.

_Why don't you just go away?_

Fragile. He was frozen and fragile. His head had settled for a constant ache that resented any sort of eye movement or inclination.  He had walked through the migraine, surprising himself; the sheer agony tended to flatten him immobile on the bed, when he wasn't forced to rush to the bathroom. 

His last migraine, he'd been in Chicago with Toby. He had made it through their meetings but had struggled to maintain control in the taxi back to the hotel, pressing his head between his knees in awful pain, Toby, uncharacteristically relaxed and surprisingly gentle, had helped a pale, shaking Sam to undress and crawl into bed,  _Just let me undo the buttons, you're fumbling like an idiot,_  had steered him to the bathroom,  _Nine times? How can you be sick nine times?_   And had kept a watchful eye on him throughout the evening. 

But this time, this conflict had driven him away from the safety net of his office and the hurt of his partner, and he hadn't known where on earth to go. 

He reached the front door just as Josh stepped out of a taxi.

"Sam!"  They went in together, Josh's warm hand automatically holding Sam's arm, instantly melting a little of the ice inside him. "You're cold. Where've you been?"

"Walking."

"Why didn't you come home? I've been trying to call you."  Josh stopped by the coat rack, still holding Sam's arm, "It's freezing out there. What about your head?"

Sam shrugged him off and sat down on the couch. Josh moved over to the kitchen, "I’ll make a hot drink – you want coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?"

"Tea, please."  Sam leaned back and closed his eyes. Now that he had finally stopped moving, the fierce stab of migraine returned with a vengeance, and he gasped, pressing a hand against the side of his head. 

Josh soon returned and sat close to Sam.  He brought tea, and a cool cloth which he held gently against Sam's forehead. Sam peered at him sadly from below the white fabric,

"Thanks."

"You due for some more pills?"

"Dunno. Time?"

"Ah – " Josh took hold of Sam's wrist and glanced at his watch, "Nearly eleven-thirty. You're still cold."

"Could take a couple."

"You're sure about that?"

"Mmm, yeah."

"Where are they?"

Sam waved a hand at the coffee table.  After that, they drank their tea in silence for a few minutes, giving the pills a chance to relieve a little of the pain, then Sam laid a hand on Josh's knee,

"How badly – " he paused and swallowed, suddenly awash with emotion, "How – how much d'you want me to go away?"  He blinked at Josh, who placed his warm hand over Sam's cold one and drew in a shaky breath.

"I don't.  I don't want you to go away.  I just really didn't want to deal with your reaction. Yet again we had done a deal you wouldn't appreciate – "

"Why didn't you just try me?" His tone was plaintive.

"I – It was in the too-hard basket.  I didn't want to let you down but Leo and I agreed we had to secure the other side, and that was the best way – "

"Best or easiest?"

"Sam! It was the hardest, and I should've told you – " he broke off and stared desperately at Sam, whose tired blue eyes were confused. And without even thinking he lifted a gentle hand and cupped Sam's cheek, "See, you're hard work sometimes, you know that, don't you, and we’ve all been run ragged with the Summit.  I was just too damn tired.  And then the migraine happened so I thought, it could just wait 'til New England."  He dropped his hand in defeat.

Sam sighed loudly, "I thought, I thought you'd screwed me over the deal and I was upset about that, but it wasn't – It was the look on your face." Sam stared down at his lap, his face taut with pain, "You – you really wanted me to get out of your way."

Josh leapt to his feet, "Only at that MOMENT!" He was shouting suddenly, "It was just at that PARTICULAR MOMENT.  I didn't need to see your shocked face staring at me. ALL RIGHT?  Just. At. That. Moment."  He paced up and down the room.  His frustrated words had reverberated through his partner's head, ricocheting around beneath the dura, and Sam gasped inadvertently, squinting one eye shut and pressing a hand to the side of his head. 

Josh stopped dead in his tracks, "Oh God, Sam, I'm sorry!" and he sat down again, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders, "C'mon, come and lie down."  Sam leaned into Josh's embrace and moaned softly. Josh tightened his hold, wrapping his other arm across Sam's chest and enveloping him in a gentle bear hug. They sat like that for several minutes, Josh absorbing the coldness of his partner, Sam soaking up Josh's warmth, and in those few silent, special minutes the animosity dissipated and they were lovers again. 

Josh took Sam to bed. He sat him on the edge of the bed and carefully lifted off the thick blue sweater, a treasure lovingly knitted by his own mother.  Sam's hair stood on end and Josh smoothed it down, kissing Sam's clammy forehead. Then he slowly unbuttoned Sam's shirt, revealing his undershirt. Sam's hands lifted limply as Josh freed his cuffs and dropped the shirt to the floor.  His undershirt took a little tugging, and Josh was rewarded with a shivering but beautiful Sam, and he ran his hands over Sam's smooth chest, kissing him on the tip of his nose this time.

"Pants now."  He slowly unbuckled the belt and slid it out of Sam's trousers, running a teasing finger around Sam's ticklish waistline.  Sam writhed despite the pain in his head, and he cracked a very small smile, the first in hours.  Josh undid Sam's pants and pushed Sam down onto his back on the bed before sliding the pants right off, leaving Sam in grey cotton boxers and navy socks.  

Josh fetched a grey t-shirt from the drawer and smiled down at Sam lying on the bed.

"Put this on, okay? I need to check your bag for the flight in the morning."  There was a lengthy groan from the bed as Sam pondered the horror of an early morning flight after a migraine.  He struggled into the t-shirt and reeled into the bathroom. 

A few minutes later they were encased beneath the duvet, bodies pressed close as Sam lay encircled in his lover's arms, their work differences pushed aside in the face of their powerful feelings for one another. 

*  *  *

The plane ride was initially uneventful. Sam had woken with the usual migraine hangover, Josh literally dragging him out of bed and onto the floor with a thump, knowing from past experience that there was no other way of getting him up. He was on a go-slow, struggling through a thick fog that seemed to have invaded his brain.

After the chill he had received the night before, he felt hot and sluggish now, and Josh had worriedly felt his forehead, surprised at the heat there.

"Did you catch a cold? You feel feverish now."

"I'm just warm for a change." But once settled in the plane, he felt hot and uncomfortable, loosening his tie and ordering lemonade. Two hours into the flight, they found themselves heading into a storm that no-one had predicted would head inland so far so fast, and the plane began to rock and jerk as they descended towards Austin.  

Sam felt uncharacteristically queasy, a feeling that wasn't helped as the woman beside him threw up suddenly into a barf bag, finally staggering past him to go to the lavatory.  Sam closed his eyes and tried to go over the preparation he had made for his first meeting in Austin.

The plane slithered across the sky, buffeted by sweeping gusts of wind rushing in from the South, rain now lashing the windows and darkening the blueness to a steely grey. As he ticked off the bullet points in his head, there was a particularly powerful roll and a stewardess stumbled down the aisle towards him, her bucket of ice cubes flying arc-like in the air and descending down right onto Sam. He first felt the crack of the ice-bucket against his forehead, then dozens of frozen blocks rained down all over him, instantly turning to icy water as they came into contact with his skin.  Yelping with surprise, Sam unlatched his seatbelt and stood up, tiny cubes cascading onto the floor. The stewardess had regained her balance and came up to him, apologising profusely.

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry. I just lost my footing there for a moment." She stared at his forehead, "I'll get the first aid kit."  Frowning, Sam put a hand to his forehead, where there was a warm trickle of blood and a lump forming just below his hairline.  He shivered as the ice started to soak his suit and leak down around his shirt collar, and he shook his body in the hope of ridding himself of some of the cold little cubes.

Ten minutes later, he was settled in a new seat, a strip of plaster across the top of his forehead, shivering despite the hot coffee brought by the apologetic stewardess.  He closed his eyes and tried to rest, thinking this week might have gone a little better had he stayed in bed – for the whole week.  Now, on top of the remaining dregs of migraine he had a bump on the head and he really couldn't decide if he was hot or cold.  He shivered more violently and curled up in the seat, just half an hour to go…

*  *  *

The landing was nerve-wracking and it was with little regret that the passengers disembarked into the howling gales of Austin in a storm. 

As he waited for his luggage, a tall, fairly hefty man appeared at his side, wearing a thick sheepskin coat and a beige beanie.  Sam tried to ignore him but had the uncomfortable feeling that the man had chosen to stand beside Sam for a reason, and as soon as he had grabbed his bag the man tapped him on the shoulder,

"Mr Seaborn?"    He had fair skin and pale, washed-out blue eyes framed by feathery white lashes.

Sam frowned. He wasn’t meant to be met until he reached the exit.

"You are Mr Sam Seaborn?" 

"I am." 

"I would be very keen to meet with you to discuss the purpose of my organisation, which I feel is very important to the President’s strategy for better employment measures and a more peaceful country."    He fixed Sam with an intense glare and took hold of his arm.  His fingers were long and steely and Sam felt the pressure of his fingertips digging into his upper arm. Irritated, he shook off the man’s hand and walked forward.

"You need to make an appointment with my office."    The man stayed with him, and continued to talk about his group, which he called Board or Bored – Sam didn’t really care; his stomach was still queasy from the flight and he just wanted to get on with the day.  At the exit, a uniformed chauffeur stepped forward and introduced himself, and Sam was able to shake off the vaguely threatening man shadowing him. He sank back into the seat with a sigh as the car pulled away from the terminal.

*  *  *

A lunch, two meetings, a tour of the recycling plant and a fancy dinner, and Sam was finally able to get into his hotel room for some rest. He dragged off his tie, kicked his shoes across the room and sank onto the bed. His head was pounding and his chest ached. The fierce winds seemed to affect his breathing and he had started to cough every time he stepped outdoors.  He rubbed a weary hand over his eyes.  Things had gone well but he was tired and lonely. 

Fishing his cell phone out of his pocket, he hit the speed-dial for Toby and described how the various meetings had progressed. 

"Did they accept the figures for the resourcing consent?"

"Pretty much. There were a few questions, but on the whole they were reasonable about it."  Sam coughed.

"How's that migraine?"

"It's pretty much gone, although one of the airline hostesses dropped a bucket of ice on my head, so that didn’t exactly help!" Sam ruefully touched the tender lump on his forehead.

"How the hell could that happen?" 

"Rough flight. The person next to me was sick and that just about started me off! " He grimaced into the telephone.  "Luckily I did enough of that yesterday – I had nothing left!"  He coughed again.

"You're coughing."

"I think it's the winds down here.  We've had a real blower."  He yawned, "Sorry. I better give Josh a call."

"I – ah – heard about –"

"It's okay, we can talk in Manchester, right?"

"Sure. Get some sleep tonight."

"You too. G'night, Toby."

Then he called Josh, and the sound of his cheery voice seemed to touch a raw nerve. Sam choked, a heavy weight in his chest, and he had to clear his throat twice to get out a simple ‘hey’.

"Sam! How is it down there? Didja have a good day? What’s the weather like?"  

Sam rubbed a hand back and forth over his chest, and chatted to Josh about his day. "Oh, and can you find out anything about – oh, don’t worry."   He could hear Josh shuffling papers.

"What?" 

"Nah, I can do it here. I just, there was this guy at the airport. Anyway, I’ll tell you when I see you." 

"Oo-kay then. You be sure to get some sleep tonight. You sound tired." 

"Yes, Mom!" 

"Shut up." 

"See you, Josh." 

"Yeah," Josh was already onto something else. Sam clicked off and lay back on the bed, weary beyond belief.  He yawned widely and stared at the ceiling, wondering absently why hotel room ceilings were so white.  The white hurt his eyes.  

*  *  *

Sam smiled gratefully as the stewardess refilled his coffee cup unbidden.  He was almost done with his notes and figured if he worked during this flight, he might just get to sleep on the next.  With fifteen minutes between planes, he'd barely have time to cross the tarmac. 

Sam did a mental checklist of his whirlwind visit to Austin: two tours, nine meetings and three meal engagements in two days.  And his lungs had continued to feel irritated, causing him to cough almost continuously when they were on the move or outdoors. 

He yawned and saved his notes.  He was too damn tired.  Downing his coffee, he leaned back in the seat.  It had been a good trip in terms of results, and guaranteed support for the President from some hugely influential Texan organizations.  But he really hadn't slept well, and a second encounter with the burly man from the airport had thrown him a little, during an official lunch.

They had been just finishing their soup, Sam sandwiched between the Mayor's wife and the wife of the local EPA President, when there had been a slight commotion near the door.  They hadn't been able to see what it was, but word had slipped along the table that it was some nutter trying to get to Sam.  He had shrugged it off, used to people hoping he could take their plights to the President.  Sam had enjoyed the meal. It was his last function in Texas before he took an early evening flight north, and he had probably had more wine than he usually would whilst working.  On top of that, only thirty-six hours out from his migraine medication and steeped in some rather rich cough medicine he had picked up out on the road that morning, Sam was feeling very relaxed.

He had slipped out to the bathroom while coffee was being served, and was just washing his hands when the man from the airport had appeared behind him, startling him.

"Mr Seaborn."

"How the hell did you get in here?" It wasn't so long since Sam had been assaulted in a Men's room, and he felt a rush of icy fear shudder through him.

"I need to talk to you." The man had once more gripped Sam's arm in a steely grasp, rubbing the tendons against the bone, making Sam wince. He tried to twist his arm free but the man was much bigger and stronger.  "Just hold on, and let me speak."

Sam felt dizzy with the mid-day wine and the sudden surge of fear, and had staggered slightly, catching the man unawares.  He loosened his grip and Sam managed to drag his arm free and stumble against the door.  The man scrabbled to regain his prize but Sam's balance, dodgy at the best of times, sent him through the swing door, and into the small lobby beyond, sprawling onto the carpeted floor on his hands and knees.  Another guest was just approaching the same bathroom, and as he stopped, stunned, at the appearance of Sam on the floor, the big man burst out of the bathroom, and took off for the exit. 

The other guest bent to assist Sam, who gasped at him to alert security, but the man had vanished.  Sam had limped back to the table, his knees burning, and had finished his coffee, feeling suddenly very alone at that table of Texans. 

Despite security interviews, the description of the man failed to ring any bells, and all Sam had been able to do was fill out a report. But now he was winging his way north, back to the people with whom he felt secure, back to Toby and CJ, and Josh.  Sam put down his coffee cup and closed his eyes, thinking about Josh, his Josh, such a political animal, so driven to make deals and play people one off against the other in order to achieve the best results.  Sam exhaled a long, shaky breath – he adored Josh, his heart sped up when he saw him, he loved to relax on the couch with his body draped over Josh's, feeling the close contact, and yet Josh often didn't show that he cared at all. But Sam knew he did. It was in the little things, like Josh carrying Sam's migraine pills in his backpack, or slipping out on a Sunday morning to get Sam's favourite coffee, or remembering to put his shirt in the laundry basket instead of on the floor. Using a coaster on the coffee table.  Running interference when Sam was in hot water with Leo yet again.

Sam smiled to himself and settled down in his seat for a few minutes of peace as the plane began its descent towards DC.

*  *  *

# New England

The day dawned crisp and clear, despite a grey, snow-laden tint to the increasingly pale sky. Josh leaned out the window and inhaled the familiar New England air.  The old-fashioned Inn was nestled in a beautiful garden of winter silvers and greens, and Josh sat on the wide sill, soaking up the scene.

The cold air wafted across to Sam and he groaned sleepily, dragging the duvet up over his head.  Josh turned and smiled indulgently at the pile of bedclothes,

"What time did you finally get in?"

"Grmmph!"

Josh smiled back at the garden, "It was after two, I know. I woke up then and you were still out. What's Toby's problem anyway? I thought you'd finished it."

"We had!" Sam's tousled head poked out of the bedding. "Then he decided it needed more work."

"At midnight?"

 "Yes! And the fire in that room went out and it just got colder and colder."

"You need to stay warm."

"Tell Toby. And with an open-air address at noon? Fat chance of that!" He buried his face in the pillow, his voice muffled. "I need more sleep!"

"Sorry, buddy.  Staff at seven-thirty, breakfast meeting."

"Don't want breakfast."

Josh smiled again at the petulant tone and looked out the window one more time, "I'll give you ten more minutes while I have a shower."

Sam looked up, disgruntled, "How come you're so perky anyway?"

"We're in New England, Sam. Smell the air. Clean, crisp.  It's beautiful here."

"It's freezing!" Sam disappeared back under the duvet, coughing, and Josh headed for the bathroom.  Sam wasn't usually so grumpy in the morning but they'd headed up from D.C. as soon as he arrived off the plane from Texas, stumbling across the tarmac, and Toby had been hammering away at the President's lunchtime address ever since.

Ten minutes later, Josh sat down on the bed as he buttoned his cuffs.  He nudged the heap of Sam with his elbow,

"Up and at 'em, cowboy!"  He was rewarded with another groan. He pulled at the cover and revealed Sam's head and shoulders.  Josh stared at the sleepy blue eyes blinking slowly, dark hair askew, a delicious pout: his Morning Sam.  Josh leaned in and kissed Sam firmly on the lips.  Sam's eyes widened in surprise but just as he began to respond, Josh drew back, "Uh-uh, you need to get dressed. That was your wake-up call."

Sam sat up, frowning, "Not fair."

"Worked though."  For good measure, Josh pulled the duvet right off and Sam drew his knees up, hugging them to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees and looked sadly at Josh,

"I really am tired."

Josh met his gaze, evaluating his partner. Sam did look exhausted, his eyes swollen and shadowed.  Josh leaned over and felt Sam's forehead, Sam leaning into his hand.

"You feel kind of hot. Want me to say you're sick?"

Sam considered this, then shuddered, "Not when Mrs Bartlet's in the area. On home turf, so to speak." He yawned widely and clambered off the bed. "Shower," he mumbled.

*  *  *

Fifteen minutes later they walked down to the dining room, Sam now neatly pressed but yawning, Josh already tousled, his hand resting gently on the small of Sam’s back, guiding him along.

Toby was parked in the corner, buried in the Washington Post.  Josh collected a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee and plonked down opposite,

"Morning, Toby."  Toby harrumphed a good morning in return.  "Late night, was it?"

"We had to get it right."

"Sam’s a wreck."

"He’s a big boy -" they both looked up at a loud smash, and saw Sam bending to collect the broken pieces of his coffee cup off the floor. "We-ell, maybe not."

CJ and Leo arrived, circumnavigating Sam and a waitress clearing the mess away.

"What’d he do?" Leo inclined his head towards Sam.

"He didn’t get enough sleep, that’s what."

Leo shrugged as Sam approached them clutching a new mug of coffee in two hands, his cheeks tinted with embarrassment. He lifted one shoulder,

"At least it was empty."  There was some general eye-rolling and Josh patted the seat beside him,

"C’mon, klutz-buddy, sit with me."

They hashed through the day’s events, focusing on the rally at lunchtime at the local football ground. Leo turned to Sam,

"Do your usual thing there, right?  Oversee seating, stage, entrance, holding pen, guests, sound – you know the drill?"

Sam nodded, "Sure, it should all be under control."

"Josh, I need you to stay with the Mayor from eleven. We need him right up there, so  _don’t_ upset him. Toby’ll be checking his opening remarks after this. CJ, the Press – you have a meeting with them – where? When?"

"Nine, in the Community Centre."

"Good. Let’s make this happen, folks. It’s a huge launch for the Heritage Campaign and we need this badly."

*  *  *

Eleven-thirty, and Sam was wishing he owned some thermal underwear. Despite the activity at the football ground, he was freezing, the pale, watery sun giving off no warmth at all.  A lineman had handed him a windproof parka, but the chill had already sunk deep into his bones.  Twenty minutes to go and he knew the President would be arriving soon.  Already many of the seats were filled, entertained by the local brass band and a team of dead-serious elderly line dancers dressed in Bartlet for America t-shirts and incongruous pink Stetsons.

Sam weaved between the dancers and sat on the steps of the stage, making a final check of his list.  He shuddered with cold, rubbing one hand across his frozen nose, wondering why he had not brought any gloves.  He stifled a yawn, feeling a crushing tiredness, even more than the usual late night drag, something really exhausting.  He coughed, feeling a slight burn in his lungs, and shifted uncomfortably on the step. An aide approached, bending down to tap his shoulder,

"Mr Seaborn? Excuse me, but there’s a man who wants to see you."

"Who is it?" but she shrugged. Sam frowned at her, "Did he say where he’s from?"

She handed him a business card. Sam squinted at it then fished his glasses out of his pocket, his cold hands trembling slightly before securing the glasses on his nose and studying the card.  There was no name on it.

"A BORED advisor?!? Is this a joke?"

"He seemed very serious, very – ah – intense."

Sam stood up, removing his glasses, "Where is he?"

She pointed to a tall man in a sheepskin coat at the barrier entrance, staring at them across the crowds still pouring into the seating area.  Sam’s mouth dropped open in surprise and he felt a shiver run up his spine. He shuddered visibly.

"Cold, sir?"

"Aah, yes. Look, can you tell him that he’d do better to make an appointment with my office."

The aide shifted uncomfortably, "He said that wouldn’t be acceptable."

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, "He did?  Look, can you alert security - " They both heard the sound of approaching sirens. "Well, too bad. I’m flat out right now." Sam pocketed the card and headed up the steps to the stage, signaling to the band leader to prepare the welcome music.

*  *  *

As they headed for the motorcade, flushed with success, CJ and Josh both looked around, then at Toby,

"Isn’t Sam coming back with us?"

Toby shrugged, "He didn’t arrive with us."

CJ looked around again, "Did you see? Poor Sam, he shivered through the whole thing."

Leo glanced around, "We have to move. Josh, find Sam, we’ll leave a car."

Josh found him at the back of the stage, sitting down with his head in his hands. The Presidential motorcade could be heard pulling away into the distance.

"Sam?"

"Hey!" Sam flung him a weak smile.

"Great rally."

"Yeah."

"Why’re you sitting here?"

 

"Tired." Sam lifted a hand vaguely.

"You look like hell." Josh caught hold of Sam’s hand, "Man, you’re frozen. How long’ve you been cold?"

Sam withdrew his hand, "A while. I’m fine."

Josh’s hand snaked up to the back of Sam’s neck, "Jeez, you’re really cold. C’mon, let’s go.  They left us a car." He tugged at Sam’s arm. Sam pulled away irritably,

"Fine. I’m fine." But his speech was slightly slurred and Josh realised with shock that Sam was really cold and tired.  He tugged again, hefting him up, having to steady the younger man, "Shit, Sam, why didn’t you- "

"It's okay, Josh."  They began to walk around the stage towards the driveway.  The crowd was dispersing rapidly, band packing up, sound equipment looping low like giant spiders' webs across the entire arena.  There was a big man standing near Josh's agent, and Josh, his hand holding Sam's upper arm, felt Sam flinch in recognition.  The man took a step forward but was blocked by the agent. He waved, trying to edge around the man in his way,

"Mr Seaborn! Mr Seaborn!"

Josh glanced at Sam, who gave a minute shake of the head. Josh glared at the man, "He's not feeling well. You'll have to call his office."  They walked away, Sam shivering again now they were on the move, and Josh bundled him into the waiting car.  He slammed the door and a moment later they were speeding back to town. Sam leaned back in his seat, one arm pressed across his eyes, and Josh eyed him concernedly,

"What's with that creepy looking giant?"   Sam shrugged. "You seen him before?"

"I swear the same guy approached me in Texas, at the airport…" he coughed, "And at the hotel, where we were having lunch – he tried to hang onto me in the Men's!"

"You're kidding? That's a hell of a coincidence."

"Well, I dunno." Sam sighed wearily. "I filed a report down there."  He yawned, rubbing his face.

 

"Jeez, Sam, you look all in."      

"Where're we headed now?" He coughed again.

"Back up to the main house – we're having lunch together.  You sure you're up to it? I can drop you back at the Inn."

"I'm okay." Sam smiled gently at Josh's concern, "I'm just – it kind of hurts in here somewhere." He rubbed his hands across his rib cage. "Maybe I need to use my inhaler or something – well, I did before but it didn’t make much difference." He frowned down at his own chest, "I can't seem to get it right.  It's been a hassle ever since Nebraska." 

Josh patted his knee, "Maybe it's just something that takes practice.  We can get better at it, hopefully before next winter!"

Sam groaned, "God, I hope so." He leaned back in the seat and glanced at Josh, "How d'you think today went?"

"I think it was good – we had the perfect crowd, of course, but this heritage thing, it's going to be a hit all around the country, once the idea catches on – other States are gonna pick it up and run with it for sure, and it means whole groups of voters who'll be committed to the cause, spreading the word. I'm really excited about it." He grinned at Sam, who managed a thin smile, his head leaning wearily against the back of the seat. 

*

They headed into the Bartlet homestead, joining the others in the drawing room for a celebratory glass of wine.  The President was glowing, his obvious excitement permeating the whole Senior Staff, so that the atmosphere was light and uplifting. 

Jed Bartlet sat on the arm of CJ's chair, and clinked glasses with her, "How did you find the rally, CJ?"

CJ twirled a lock of hair around her finger alluringly, and grinned up at him, "I thought it was great, Sir, there was a very positive and promising feel in the crowd."

"Much response from the Press yet?"

"They seem happy to come on board something that's going to do so much good for so little financial drain. There were some well-briefed questions this morning, which means we have a good chance to get the right message out there from the start."

Bartlet grinned around the room, "Ah, Josh, I see you found our Sam.  How did things look to you?"

Josh took a sip of wine, "Derrison was thrilled to bits, having you launch it from here. That was a wise move, and it's gonna pay off because they want to be the leaders all the way."

"I heard that, too, " added Toby, "Derrison's 2IC was keen as mustard to get at the Press after the Rally, to put out their plan – that was  _our_  plan, of course."   They all compared notes about the impressions they had of the Rally, Sam straining to keep focused through the overwhelming tiredness that was dulling his senses. 

They went through to lunch, all slightly relieved to hear Dr Bartlet was held up at the Countrywomen's Institute, and wouldn't see them until dinner that evening.  Sam picked listlessly at his food, struggling to keep his eyes open and it was Leo that leaned towards him,  "Sam, you feeling okay?"

Sam had ducked his head, "Sure, Leo, I'm just tired." He had coughed then and Leo had frowned at him,

"You're not sounding too good. What's on for you guys this afternoon?" 

"Just the writing for tomorrow's round."

"Take it easy, kid. I heard Texas was tough."

"It was pretty full on."

CJ leaned in from the other side, "Sam, you're not eating enough." And Sam had leaned towards her resignedly, resting his forehead into her shoulder.  She put down her fork and patted him on the shoulder, "Aww, you're exhausted, honey."  She smiled at him as he sat up and took a couple more bites of his meal.  "That's my boy."  Sam rolled his eyes at her as he folded his napkin. 

*  *  *

They'd been working for nearly an hour when Toby leaned forward, easing Sam's pen out of his hand and gently peeling off his glasses. Sam had fallen asleep right there at the table, leaning on one hand, and Toby had stopped and stared for a moment before shrugging and getting on with the work. Sam seemed under the weather and Toby was concerned for his Deputy, whose health had been so fragile this winter. 

Fifteen minutes later, a coughing fit woke Sam and he blinked in surprise at Toby, a blush  creeping across his face as he realised he had been asleep. 

"Oh God."

"It's okay."

"I'm sorry – "

"I said it's okay.  You're worn out.  Why don’t you go back to the Inn, get some sleep in a proper bed.  I can get on with this fine, it's nearly all done anyway, you did most of the work on this last week." 

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, "I'm sorry – I just – I – "

"C'mon, I'll organise some transport for you, get you there safely." Toby stood up and rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, "You can be back for dinner at seven. We'll give you a wake-up call."  Sam looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and dull, and Toby tugged at his shirt, "Up you get."  He took Sam out to the foyer where one of the drivers agreed to deliver Sam to their accommodation down the road. 

*  *  *

Sam dropped his clothes and crawled into bed in his t-shirt and boxers, feeling quite odd to be in bed at three-thirty in the afternoon.  His head ached, a heavy feverish pressure above his eyes, and his chest burned. He absently rubbed his hand around his ribcage, knowing now that the inhaler offered little relief there this time.  Frowning miserably, he let his eyes slide shut, falling into a deep sleep.   

Sam's ability to sleep so deeply for short periods of time was legendary among the senior staffers of the West Wing.  Early in the campaign, CJ had had her first taste of this when they had arrived hot and tired after a long bus ride to congregate in the meeting room of the Boulder conference centre.

"Where's Sam?"

"Still in the bus."  Toby had turned the page of his Colorado newspaper casually.

"But it’s so hot in there. Why would he want to stay on the bus?"

Josh had grinned at her around a mouthful of bagel, "It's like this, Ceej, Sam and Toby were up really late last night, right?" She nodded, frowning. "And the night before, right?" She nodded again, keen to get a little of Josh's insight into their youngest member.  "Well, when Sam's tired and he falls asleep, well, he's really asleep."

"But he's so bouncy in the mornings –"

"He's really not! He just puts on a good act until he's ingested about half a pint of coffee! THEN he's bouncy!!"

"Okay but we really shouldn't leave him in the hot bus."

"No." Toby rattled his paper, "I need him here to work on the address for tonight." He glanced casually at CJ, "Would you mind waking him up?"

"Sure – " she hesitated at the triumphant glances that shot between Toby and Josh. "Wait a minute, what's the catch?"

Leo sniggered quietly, "The kid's a bomb, CJ, we all have trouble rousing him."

"Aw, c'mon, what can be so difficult?"  She strode confidently out into the shimmering heat of a Boulder summer, and slipped into the slightly darker bus. Sam was lying scrunched up in the corner of a seat, looking adorably defenceless and young. So young. CJ sighed at his beautifully sculpted features, his lower lip pouting slightly, his lashes thick and dark against his cheeks.  His face was hot and red, though, and she knew that they had been wrong to leave the poor guy behind. 

CJ gently leaned down and patted Sam's shoulder, which was also hot, but he did not respond.  She shook his shoulder, feeling the bones beneath his shirt, but again there was no response. 

"Sam?  Sam, wake up." There was no response.  CJ shook his shoulder a little harder, " _Sam! C'mon_ , we have to get on with the work…" He groaned a little, and snuggled into the back of the seat, dropping his shoulder from beneath her hand.  CJ frowned at him, and rubbed a hand across her own forehead. She was going to get this kid up, come hell or high water.  Like a woman on a mission, CJ leaned in close to Sam's ear then shouted suddenly, "FIRE!" Sam's eyes flew open and he leapt to his feet as she jumped clear, his head ramming into the overhead luggage rack with a sickening crash. He reeled upright for a moment then fell into the aisle unconscious.

CJ stared in absolute horror.  Her jaw hung slack and she gripped the back of the seat, stunned. Sam didn't move.  After about ten seconds, CJ leaned down and touched his back with a shaky hand. 

"Sam? Sam, honey?" She petted his dark hair softly, flinching with embarrassment as Josh and Toby appeared at the end of the aisle. 

Josh rushed forward, "God, what'd you do?"  He fell to his knees beside Sam's inert form.  CJ blushed and hung her head,

"I may have given him a wee fright. He banged his head on that rack thing." 

Toby came a little closer, "Is he still asleep then?"

"No, he's unconscious now!" Josh cupped Sam's cheek in his hand and was rewarded with a lengthy groan. "Toby, can you get Dr Bartlet out here to take a look at him?"

Toby rattled off down the steps and CJ sank into one of the bus seats. Josh sat back on his heels and they stared at one another.

"I'm so sorry, I never imagined this would happen, Josh."

"Sure he'll be fine, it's not the first time he's been knocked out."  He straightened as Abigail Bartlet stepped briskly onto the bus, shaking her head at the heap before her in the aisle. 

"What on earth happened here?"

CJ blushed, "I was trying to wake him up and he got a fright and bumped his head, and knocked himself out."

"He feels terribly hot."

"That's why I was out here – it was too hot for him to sleep in the bus."

"How did you scare him?"

"I – uh – I yelled  _fire_."

Abby's lips twitched, "Good idea to get him off the bus. But perhaps you could come up with a gentler way of waking him next time?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Sam groaned louder, his eyes blinking, and Abby tapped him on the cheekbone, "Wake up, kiddo, you've had a bump on the head."  She carefully felt her way all over his skull, her face a mask of concentration, as Sam tried to focus on what was going on.  He winced under her probing fingers but she decided there appeared to be no serious external damage.  "Can you sit up for us, Sam?" She helped him into a sitting position, Josh leaning forward to support him, and she shone a small light into his eyes.  Sam winced again, but obediently followed her penlight from left to right, up and down.  Abby smiled at him, "You're going to have one hell of a headache tonight, kiddo. I can't see you making it to the Boulder fundraiser." She glanced at Toby, "Can you do without him for the next little while? I think he needs to lie down some more, in a proper bed." 

And throwing a murderous glance at CJ, Toby had nodded accordingly.  It was a while before she agreed to wake Sam up again, and wasn't surprised at all to hear that Josh's favourite solution was to simply drag Sam onto the floor…

Being so deeply asleep, Sam didn't hear the old-fashioned sash window slowly slide upwards.  He didn’t hear the soft scrabbling of a fairly decent-sized man slither over the sill and drop onto the floor.  He didn't see the man straighten slowly, getting his bearings in the twilight.  He didn't see the man pad silently around the bed to stare down at him somewhat victoriously. 

The man turned on a small bedside lamp and stared at his victim.  He had been thrilled to see Sam return to the Inn so much earlier than he had expected, and alone as well. After some time, when Sam had not come back down, he had decided to take matters into his own hands. As the first evening shadows had crept across the garden, he had been able to climb to the first floor window easily and had been even more surprised to see Sam in bed. 

Not sure how much time he had, the man reached down and roughly shook Sam by the shoulder. This produced a ragged fit of coughing, but Sam slept on. Irritated by the lack of response, the man gripped Sam's shoulder and squeezed fiercely, his fingers digging into Sam's skin through his t-shirt.  Sam's eyes opened in shock and he stared up at the blond man, recognising him at once. He struggled to sit up, coughing again, his eyes narrowing at the pain in his chest, his heart thumping with fear at the man still grasping his shoulder.

"What – what –" he managed to shake off the man, who pulled up a chair and sat close to the bed. Sam stared in surprise – attackers don't usually sit down for a chat. He sat up a little further and leaned against at the bed-head. It was the man's turn to stare at his pale, tired captive, and he frowned,

"Are you all right?"

"Just trying to get some rest." Sam was unable to muster even fear or irritation any more, and he sighed resignedly, "What the hell are you doing here? I really can't talk to you at the moment. I don't feel very good."  He ran a hand over his face, feeling hot and cold and out of sorts. "You can't just stalk me the length of the country. I have a job, I have an office, I see people who make appointments or submissions or who are sent to me by the President. I don't just stop and hear every Joe average person in the street or I’d never get past the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue each day." He stopped and gasped for breath, his arms wrapping around his aching ribs as he coughed painfully. The man stepped into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water, which Sam sipped gratefully. The man sat down again and waited.

Finally Sam leaned back against the bed head again and the man took the glass out of his hand.

"Tha – thanks."

"Now you have to let me talk about the people I represent. We are a group, a powerful group, that seeks to prevent racist and ethnic walls being built up by government bodies." The man began to pace as he warmed up and Sam, trying as hard as he could, only caught snatches of his speech, "…we work towards total equality….removing barriers to promotion that rely on race or sex… " Sam was nodding at first, but as the lecture developed, his foggy brain sensed a sinister undertone and he began to make connections, "… no bias towards one race, no preferential treatment, no recognition of racial differences…" Sam's eyes widened – twenty minutes of haranguing and he suddenly realised he was with a member of the Klan.  He leaned forward and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling vulnerable in a t-shirt and boxers.  He stood up, a little unsteadily, and raised a finger,

"Just let me clarify a few points here –"

"I don't think so." The man stepped right up to Sam and gently shoved him so that he sat down abruptly on the bed, "I haven't finished."  Sam's cell suddenly burst into life on the bedside cabinet, making them both jump slightly. He automatically reached for it but the man leaned down and grabbed his arm, "Don't answer that. We're talking."

Sam tried to shrug him off as the phone kept ringing, "I have to."

"Not this time." The man's steely grip bit into Sam's forearm and he recalled the airport in Austin. The man pushed Sam back against the bed-head. "Get back into bed. You need to listen to me."  Sam began to feel fearful. He slid his bare legs back under the covers, drawing his knees up under his chin. The movement dislodged the inflammation in his lungs and he coughed again, burying his face in his knees, shoulders heaving. When he finally lifted his head, shaken by the assault, his face pale and sweating, the man was waiting patiently, holding out the glass of water again. Sam took a couple of tiny sips, feeling light-headed and scared.

*

Josh snapped his phone shut, "I'm going over there."

"He might be in the shower or something. Did you try the room telephone?"

"No – don't even know the number. You coming?"

Toby sighed, "Neither of you's safe out on your own."  He shrugged on his coat, and eyed Josh, "If he's on his way over and we miss him, you're dead."  Eyes widening slightly, Josh called Sam again, but there was still no reply.

*

"You have to listen to me," said the man again, his voice rising in irritation at their interrupted progress.

"I really don't." Sam still felt a small measure of defiance – he was after all a Senior Staffer in the White House. He stared at the man, trying to ignore the tenuous position he was in at the moment.  His phone rang again, but the man picked up the cell and threw it across the room, where it fell silent. Sam cried out in surprise, "Hey!" The man ignored him,

"All I want is for the President to hear our point of view."

"Why are you bugging me in particular?"

"Oh, c'mon, isn't it obvious? You have to be our man.  Ziegler's a Jew, McGarry's too protected, we'll never get near Lyman again…" Sam's mouth dropped open and any colour left in his face vanished. Their eyes locked, Sam's deep blue fixing on the man's pale blue, and a hateful electricity passed between them. The man suddenly realised he had said completely the wrong thing.  Sam felt a roaring in his head, a dizziness that made him cling to the bedclothes and he panted heavily, desperately trying to cling to consciousness at this momentous revelation.  And just then, there was the sound of a key in the door. The man stood up, knocking over his chair in haste, and he ran right at the door, so that as Josh entered, Toby on his heels, the man thundered past them and down the corridor. Toby whirled around to see him disappear down the stairs as Josh rushed to Sam's side. Sam was still reeling in the bed and Josh was horrified at the whiteness of his face.

"Sam, are you hurt?" Sam shook his head as Toby called the security team.  Josh sat on the side of the bed and took Sam's cold hands in his own.  He stared at the vaguely lost expression in the blue eyes and could feel Sam beginning to shake. He drew Sam into a close embrace, as shudders racked through his partner's body, rattling his teeth and bumping his head against Josh's.  Josh held him even tighter, and was relieved to feel Sam's arms clasp around his own back.

Toby barrelled back into the room, panting.  "They're looking for the guy down the road – who the hell is he?"  He stopped dead as he saw the state of his Deputy, and came around to sit on the other side of the bed. He caught Josh's worried eye, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Josh stared back, still holding Sam close, and took a shaky breath,

"I think that was the guy from the rally – he was trying to talk to Sam – he'd bothered him in Austin as well."

"Austin – you mean, yesterday?"

"Yeah, he tried to talk to Sam twice down there, then at the rally this morning. I told him to phone the office. So he's been targeting Sam for something, I'd say."

What – like a stalker?"

"More like a psycho, some sort of fanatic, I think."

"And a stalker is sane?"

"You know what I mean!" Josh turned his attention back to Sam, who seemed to be calming down. Josh slowly eased back a little to get a better look at his partner, who looked pretty awful.  His face was terribly pale, his eyes red-rimmed and shocked, and as he sat back against the pillows, he coughed and that appeared to cause him some pain, because he winced, pressing a hand against his side.  "Sam, are you hurt – did he injure you at all?"

Sam shook his head, still coughing, and laid a reassuring hand on Josh's knee, "Just – he just wanted to talk, " he gasped, "But he was getting angry – then he – he – " Sam leaned back and closed his eyes. "I'm tired," he mumbled, "Might need a nap…"

Toby leaned forward and touched Sam on the shoulder, "Don't sleep yet, Sam, I think Ron wanted to have a word." And at that moment, there was a tap at the open door – Leo and Ron came in, glancing around. Ron walked over to the cell phone on the floor in the corner,

"Sam, how did this happen?"

"He threw it. It kept ringing and he was getting frustrated, and he wouldn't let me ans-" he began to cough again. "Sorry."

Leo stood at the end of the bed and looked at Josh, "Is he hurt?"

"I don't think so – shocked maybe."

Toby cleared his throat, his eyes on Sam, "There's something he's not telling us."

Leo followed his eyes, "Sam?"

Sam felt that same dizziness, his face paling even more, if that was possible, and he covered his eyes to regain some sense of balance, even as he sat on the bed.  Josh took his other hand and rubbed it gently, "Stay with us, Sammy."

Sam swallowed, and his voice was very quiet, "He's k-klan. He – he's associated in some way with Rosslyn." There was a deathly silence in the room, then Leo swore under his breath, and Ron took off out the door, already speaking rapidly into his radio. 

"Toby." Leo beckoned him aside, "We need to move him up to the House.  It's not safe here right now."

"Think he'll make it? He doesn't look too hot."

"We could call an ambulance – "

Toby looked at Josh, "Can you get him dressed and we can take him up the House?"

"Guess so."  Josh went over to Sam's bag and took out a tee, warm sweater and a pair of jeans. He moved back to the bed, where Sam leaned against the pillows with his eyes shut. "Sam, I'm gonna change your shirt and get you dressed, okay?" There was a faint nod and Josh rolled up Sam's sweaty t-shirt. They all gasped as they saw the deep bruising on Sam's upper arm, forearm and shoulder.  "What the hell happened here?"

Sam's eyes opened a fraction, and he waved a limp hand, "He's a powerful guy.  He kept restraining me, holding me." 

"Jesus!" Leo was furious. "This should never have happened." He flipped out his cell and called Ron. Toby fetched some shoes and socks for Sam and hovered as Josh stood him up, wavering precariously, to pull up his jeans.  Josh was watching Sam's face carefully,

"You gonna make it? You need your inhaler for that cough?"

"Doesn't seem to be working." Sam was starting to look more alert. He coughed again, holding onto Josh for a moment. "Let's go, I'm good."

*  *  *

By the time they arrived at the House, everyone knew what had been going on and there was a full security alert around the grounds.  CJ was waiting in the entrance hall, and she threw her arms around Sam, horrified at his bedraggled appearance.  He leaned into her tiredly, absorbing her strength, and she steered him into the parlour, where Abby Bartlet was waiting, bag in hand.

Josh and Toby were relieved to see her for once, being so concerned for Sam.  Josh sat close beside him on the couch, Toby and CJ agreeing to find drinks for everyone. Abby just sat and looked at Sam for a moment, and he stared back at her, his eyes heavy.  She took in his paleness, his lost expression, and her experienced ear heard the alien sounds present in his breathing. 

"Hey, kiddo, Leo says you've had a bit of shock tonight."

Sam shrugged, "Yeah. But I was already tired, so that maybe made it worse than it really is."

Abby snorted, and laid a hand on his forehead, "You feel feverish."

Josh patted Sam's arm, "We'd already sent him back for a sleep, because he was so tired, before this happened."

"And why were you so tired, Sam?"

He shrugged again, "Had the Summit, then Texas, then up here."

"A busy schedule doesn't usually see you falling asleep at the lunch table." And at his glance, she added, "Leo was already worried, asked me to take a look at you this evening before dinner."  Abby took out her stethoscope, "Lift up his sweater and t-shirt, Josh." She listened carefully to his lungs, his deep breaths producing a couple of loud coughs which made her back off for a moment.  Then she took out a thermometer and poked it into his mouth.  "My new fancy thermometer's broken. But I like the old-fashioned ones." Abby turned to Josh, "Did Sam get hurt tonight?"

"Some nasty bruises." He lifted the shirt again to show Sam's shoulder, finger marks now clear on his skin, and he rolled up Sam's sleeve to show the same finger marks on Sam's forearm.

"Good Lord!"  The thermometer beeped and Abby glanced at it, "Just as I thought. Sam, I guess I don't have such good news for you."

Josh shifted on the couch, "Is it an asthma attack? He said his inhaler wasn't making any difference."

"Well, it wouldn't." Abby packed away her equipment efficiently, then laid her hand against Sam's cheek, "Bad news, kiddo, I'm pretty sure you have pneumonia."

*  *  *

Settled in a large single hospital room, a guard at the door, Sam slept, attached to monitors and oxygen and IV antibiotics.  He had been asleep for a whole day, Abby explaining to Josh that the infection had exhausted him and that sleeping was the best way to start getting better.

"But how could we not have known he was so ill?"

"It's an insidious thing that creeps up on you sometimes.  You were all so busy, and there were other stresses involved too."  She patted his arm reassuringly as he stared at his partner, still pale, dark rings under his eyes, sleeping soundly.  "He'll take a couple of weeks or more to recover from this, Josh, you're going to have to keep a careful watch."

 

"Can he still come back with us tomorrow night?"

"I think so, he's responding to the drugs quite well – " Sam began to cough and they both watched him struggle for breath.  "He's had a rough winter, hasn't he?"

"Yeah."  Josh rubbed his own eyes wearily. "It's just been one thing after another, and now this! Is there something we’re doing wrong?"

"Aw, Josh, 'course not! You both lead frantically busy lives and in the middle of all that Sam gets sick and develops asthma. It hasn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination."  She stood up and moved over to Sam's bed – he was watching them, his eyes half-open, little glimpses of brilliant blue beneath his dark lashes.  "Hey there, Sam. How're you doing?"  His lips tweaked into a small smile and he lifted a tired hand. "Josh is here to keep you company, kiddo, so I'll see you later in the evening." She gently brushed some strands of hair off his forehead, then rested a hand on Josh's shoulder before slipping out of the room.

Sam's eyes slid over to his partner's – and his smile widened, dislodging the nasal oxygen line. He rolled his eyes, fumbling for the clear tubing, and Josh stood up, gently reinserting it, before leaning down to embrace his beautiful partner.  Sam's arms, hampered by lines, held onto him tightly, and they clung to one another.  Finally, Josh drew back and pulled his chair close to the bed. 

"Dude."

"Buddy." Sam's voice was hoarse. He felt totally drained, and even though he was happy to see Josh there, he wasn't able to do much about it.

"Feeling any better?"

"Sure." He leaned into the pillows, and settled for holding Josh's hand tightly.  "Still really tired though."

"Abby said that's gonna last for a while. You have to be patient." He snorted. "That'll be fun!"

Sam pouted, "I can be patient."

"You so can't!"

"He so can't what?" CJ and Toby were at the door.  Sam tried to sit up a little straighter against his raised pillows, scrubbing a hand across his face, dislodging the oxygen tube again. Josh sighed and helped him to reinsert it before turning to the other pair,

"He can't be patient. Abby said he needs to be patient to get over this."

Toby raised his eyebrows, "I can order him to be patient! That might work, he's reasonably obedient on a good day."  Sam choked on a reply, coughing and spluttering, and CJ smiled,

"That's his way of saying  _yes, please_!"

"It's a deal then." Toby settled comfortably into a chair in the corner of the room and pulled out a newspaper folded to the crossword.  Retrieving a pen from his pocket, he started to write.  CJ walked round to the other side of Sam's bed from Josh and gave him a long kiss on the forehead.

"Hi there, honey.  You're looking a little better this evening."

"Evening? What time is it?"

They all grinned, "It's six." CJ smoothed his hair some more. Shocked, Sam struggled to sit forward, looking at each of his friends in turn.

"I've lost a day," he wailed, waving his hands, IV lines rattling and swinging.  "I've really got to get up."

Josh raised the bedside rail with a clunk, "Not a chance, dude. You're staying here until the last minute. Which is when we roll tomorrow night."

Sam coughed for a few moments and they all waited uncomfortably, squirming as he held on to his ribs, looking for relief from the burning in his lungs.  He finally looked up at them, eyes streaming, and sniffed apologetically, "Sorry."

Josh put his hand through the bars and patted him gently on the chest, "Don't apologise. We're here for you, Sam."

"Exactly," added CJ. "You're staying here until tomorrow, you will not be apologising about anything, and you are going to be our prisoner for the next couple of weeks." With a deliberate clunk, she raised the safety rail on the other side of the bed as well.  Sam stared at her, startled, but a slow smile lit up his face as he realised he really could relax now.

*  *  *

# Five days later

Sam lay completely still, completely exhausted, completely satisfied. His breath came in small, wheezy gasps and his forehead was plastered with sweat-drenched streaks of dark hair.  He closed his eyes and was near to dropping off when the body beneath him began to wriggle, and a muffled voice cried out,

"Sam! Wake up and roll OFF." Josh pushed ineffectually at the limp heap draped across his own sweat-drenched body, feeling the weakness that follows really satisfying love-making.  He pushed again and got no response so decided to use Plan B, the Tickle. He ran a finger down Sam's side until he reached the waistline, and then he began his dirty work, digging into Sam's delicate skin and tickling mercilessly.  Sam squealed and writhed and finally, in desperation, rolled off onto the bed, groaning piteously.  Josh dusted off his hands and rolled onto his side to look at Sam.  He reached out and ran his flat hand across Sam's stomach, rising and falling with the effort he still had to make to get enough air into his lungs.  Josh patted the warm flesh gently, listening to Sam pant like a puppy. Leaning up on one elbow, he gazed at his lover's face – Sam was flushed – the first physical thing he had done since they returned from New England.  Josh decided if he could survive this, he could do a half-day in the office tomorrow. Sam still had dark rings around his eyes, and he still slept twice as much as usual, but he was well on the way to recovery. The closeness they had just enjoyed was exhilarating. 

As Josh watched, Sam's eyes slid shut. Josh, his hand still resting on Sam's warm stomach, let his own eyes close for a while. It was Sunday and they could rest.

That'll do. 


End file.
